• • •
“How was yourmeeting?” Irene asks as I hang up my coat, tone implying she knows it wasn’t just paperwork.
“Productive,” I say, slipping past her before she can press. Before she can notice the crack in my routine.
The prep room is as cold and sterile as ever, its surfaces gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. The body I’m working on today is already laid out on the metal table, dressed and ready for final touches. Mrs. Eleanor Durmond. Eighty-eight. A lifelong quilter. Hands folded neatly, face serene, framed by the white curls her granddaughter said she always kept “just so.”
“You look lovely, Mrs. Durmond,” I murmur, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Your granddaughter was right; those curls really do suit you.”
She doesn’t answer, of course. They rarely do in this state, especially after finding peace. But that’s the thing about working with the dead. They don’t ask questions or expect explanations. They let you…be.
I adjust her collar slightly, smoothing the fabric with care. This ritual, offering dignity at the end, is the only part of this mortal life that makes sense. Here, at least, my heart remembers how to feel useful.
“You’ll be happy to know your son approved the arrangements,” I whisper, my voice coming out more like a lullaby while Mrs. Durmond sleeps soundly. “Lilies, of course, but your daughter-in-law managed to sneak in a few violets. Subtle but elegant. Like you.”
Pausing, I glance at her peaceful expression. “I used to do this on a grander scale, you know. Kingdoms of the dead. Shadows stretching farther than you can imagine.”
My voice slows, the words weaving together. “It wasn’t perfect. Chaos never really is, but it made sense. I made sense. Order, rules, a place for everyone. The living feared me, but down there, I was…necessary.”
I step back, adjusting the hem of Mrs. Durmond’s dark velvet skirt. “Now I file paperwork and keep the place clean. It’s not the same, but…it’s something. If I can still give the dead a little dignity and the living a place to set it down, maybe that’s enough.”
I lean against the counter for a moment, exhaling. My reflection from the metal of the cabinets stares back at me. A shadow of the ruler I once was.
“They used to leave gold coins for me,” I mutter. “Offerings.Names whispered in fear. Now, I get half-hearted Yelp reviews and polite nods in grocery aisles. Progress.”
Her hands remain folded in place, her expression unchanged. I take the silence as agreement.
“I met someone,” I admit before I can stop myself. “Levi. He’s…different. As mortal as they come. Relentlessly cheerful. He talks like the sun is a verb and asked me why funerals. Can you imagine?”
Mrs. Durmond doesn’t respond, but I can almost hear the dry chuckle I might’ve earned if she could.
“I couldn’t explain it,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “Not the way I wanted to. But it’s this. People spend their lives trying to make sense of chaos. When they’re gone, it’s my job to make it neat. Orderly. Final.”
Pressing a hand to the edge of the table, I ground myself in the cold, solid reality of it. “I’m not sure Levi gets that yet. He’s all sunflowers and noise. Maybe that’s the point. People like him remind people like me how to let a little color in. But there was something else there today…” I trail off.
The thought of what I felt over coffee remains as I smooth my hair, straighten my tie, and give Mrs. Durmond one last look.
Leaning down, I adjust the soft curls framing her face. “You’ll be remembered, Mrs. Durmond,” I whisper, a secret just for her. “Just the way you hoped.”
Back in my office, I stare at the note Levi left. I’d almost tossed it. One word,sorry, softening my walls like the first warm day after millennia of winter. Cracking doors better left closed, letting sunlight slip through the shadows.
They don’t retreat.
They listen.
6
Levi
It’s been fivedays since coffee with Hayden Harlow. Five days of replaying every micro-twitch in his expression like it’s cinema. Five days of wondering if that half smile ever reaches his eyes.
Between early but frantic Valentine’s orders and obsessive garden proposal rewrites, it’s a miracle I haven’t slipped funeral lilies into a wedding bouquet. Hayden’s low voice keeps finding its way into my head at the worst times.
It’s infuriating.
If longing were aerobic, I’d have abs.
Seeing him duck into city hall this morning didn’t help. Seriously, what does he evendoin there? I’m starting to wonder if he’s secretly running for office or has some side hustle as Stonevale’s most mysterious civil servant. The man treats municipal government like a second home.
